


I sleep better with you

by Ashbashcrashed



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M, This may become mature in the future, pretending that veronica doesn't transfer to stanford, this is like after the series but before the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 05:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8044183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashbashcrashed/pseuds/Ashbashcrashed
Summary: Working on cases together meant she was over at his at all hours, and it was only natural that they would fall asleep together. That was her story, and she was sticking to it.





	I sleep better with you

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or this universe. Veronica Mars belongs to Rob Thomas. No, not the singer. The other one.
> 
> I have started work on another chapter. But honestly this works on its own and will only lead to sex scenes. But, you know. I can just change the rating and add more if you want?

She liked waking up next to him. The sun crept in through the slats of the blinds and touched him lightly, only just approaching his shaved head. His brown skin was warm against her as she stroked his arm, smiling sleepily at the peaceful expression on his face.

They were snuggled together in his bed, both fully clothed, as had become their habit lately. She would never admit that it was her favourite way to start a day, her favourite way to end the last. Working on cases together meant she was over at his at all hours, and it was only natural that they would fall asleep together. That was her story, and she was sticking to it.

The first time it happened she fell asleep on his couch, and woke feeling numb in her arms and her neck. As comfortable as his couch was, it wasn’t ideal. Still, when they woke up they laughed it off, made breakfast together, and she kissed his cheek goodbye. Ironically. Sardonically, even. He must have known, because when she showed up that evening with pizza and more case files he said “Honey, you’re home,” with a little smirk and a quirk of an eyebrow.  
“Have you shrunk the kids?” smirking back at him, she proceeded to breeze through the door, which Weevil then shut, and dropped the large stack of case files onto the somewhat cluttered table. The pizza was carefully placed beside them. She had her priorities.

Kicking off her shoes, she reclaimed her spot on his couch.  
“Mmm, is this memory foam?” she asked, patting the arm and grinning.  
“Maybe my couch just likes your ass,” he shrugged, and she chuckled, picking up some papers.

He reached for the pizza box, but Veronica tutted and handed him a wad of papers instead. He pouted, and she stuck her tongue out at him, picking up an even larger pile of paper. A comfortable silence ensued as they got to work, going over the bank statements to find discrepancies.

A couple of hours later the pizza was gone, the case files were all looked through and talked about (with a couple of leads having shown up) and both had drunk a couple of beers. Weevil turned the TV on, flicking to a nature programme, and they chatted about work, and mutual friends—what Mac was up to, how Corny was doing. They had gotten closer during their conversations, and fell asleep, almost touching.

They had been watching a documentary about dinosaurs, and a particularly loud fake-dinosaur noise woke Weevil a couple of minutes later. He yawned, turned the TV off and smiled at Veronica. She hadn’t stirred. He stood and stretched, and picked her up gently, trying not to disturb her. his room wasn’t far, and luckily the door was open—he had gone in there earlier, not bothering to shut the door behind him. Every day after this he leaves his bedroom door open. Not on purpose, he tells himself. But just... in case.

He set Veronica on the left side of the bed, checked to make sure she wasn’t wearing shoes, and that he wasn’t, then lay next to her and was asleep in seconds.

The next few days passed the same. The food changed, so did the background noise. Partway through the case changed. But through it all the night ended with an asleep Veronica being carried to the bed by a drowsy Weevil, who quickly passed out beside her.

Veronica had figured out what was happening; if she hadn’t, her license as a PI might as well have been revoked. She chose not to mention it, because there were just some things they didn’t talk about.

Things like why she continued to kiss him on the cheek goodbye each morning.

Things like why she was asking Weevil to help with cases she could do alone.

Things like why Weevil, after having worked a full day already, was always able to put aside the time to help with those cases, when he was surely exhausted.

They didn’t talk about why they were always flirting with each other. They didn’t talk about the fact that they helped each other out, no questions asked (well, as much as either of them could not ask questions…).

They didn’t talk about the bond they shared, the faith and trust they had in each other, how each of them had the others back, always. Forever.

They didn’t talk about how Weevil had started buying her favourite cereal, or how Veronica had stopped wearing a bra to his house, knowing that at the end of the night she would end up asleep. Or how Weevil knew that she had stopped wearing bras when he had picked her up.

The routine changed slightly when Veronica, instead of falling asleep on Weevil’s shoulder, got up and clumsily made her way to his bedroom, bumping into his chest of drawers lightly and falling onto the bed. Weevil followed, yawning, secretly relieved that he wouldn’t have to carry her. He was too tired. That night they managed to say goodnight to each other, before promptly falling asleep.

Another two weeks went by, Veronica staying over most nights, and walking to the bed herself when she felt tired enough. She always made sure she was so tired that she would go to sleep almost straight away, though. She couldn’t lie in a bed with him awake for too long. Couldn’t let herself imagine the extracurricular activities she could do in a bed with him.

One night she didn’t manage it. She thought she was there—felt the deep weariness settle in, and got up, yawning and stretching. But when she got into the bed she realised she wasn’t, and his hand was kind of close to her arm, wasn’t it?  
And what did he smell like?

She wondered if he was asleep or awake, wondered if she could get away with rolling over, toward him, just a little bit more. Just close enough to try and work out what he smelt like. He smelt so good. She was just curious. And she could pretend she was asleep. If he was awake he would think she was just asleep, just rolling in her sleep. Closer to him. Close enough to touch.

She stayed as still as she possibly could, listening to his breathing, trying to work out if he was asleep. Eyes shut tightly, she rolled off of her back and onto her side, now facing him. He didn’t move. Didn’t stop breathing in and out steadily. Emboldened, she shifted closer to him just a little more, recognising that he smelt faintly of motor oil, old spice, and… cinnamon. She breathed in a little deeper, moving closer yet, her body beginning to relax. He smelled like Christmas. Had he been baking? She yawned, her head falling into the crook of his neck, a small smile creeping onto her face as she finally drifted off, dreaming about snickerdoodles.

In the night he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her flush to his body. Their legs tangled together, arms encircling each other.


End file.
